If she sought true rest, Slough would have to seek farther than the phantasmagorical edge of the universe and longer than the reign of time, for as long as she lived, existence for her was a ragged agony, not only of bodily pain, but of the curse of profound ignorance.  Yet, in the midst of a thriving symphony of life whose musicians played in wondrous and improbable accord, though only by happenstance might they ever begin to comprehend their place in its harmony, the sleepless, deathless one could find a crude parody of relief.  Tiny, black insects scuttled through her wiry hair, but when immersed in her element Slough could not feel irritation.  Beneath the watchful desert sun, on the brink of the oasis waters, and wreathed by plantlife, even the air seemed more glorious and valuable.  Slough sucked the bountiful and rejuvenating air through the dry, yellowed bones of her skull, and its lovely clarity soothed a mind laid to waste by her body's eternal, vicious battle between restoration and decay.  For all of a moment, she could almost feel as if her existence had purpose, and that some small measure of delight in its fulfillment might ease her afflicted existence.

During the primitive meditation of his master, Esau patrolled the Resort.  He turned eyes of molten gold toward each petal, thorn, leaf, snout, paw, shell, stinger, wing, and tooth, examining them as a surgeon might his patient.  Though he affected the airs of some dignified lord, the Custodian held no designs for the flora and fauna he encountered.  Instead, he sought inspiration from their heartbeats.  At first, the revelation that he could hear the beat of every living thing's heart, mortal reminder and visceral glimpse as it was, perturbed him, but by now Esau accepted what had surely been his master's intention.  Custodian Esau, in ways unknowable to him, was connected to the blood.  The very stuff of life attracted and amazed him, and after a few brief experiments he found that it responded to his call.  His voice would excite the blood within living things, urging it to move of its own accord and, when subjected to greater intensity, forcibly exit its fleshy container in the form of bloody spikes.  Needless to say, Esau silenced himself after witnessing in mute remorse the gory remains of an unlucky jackrabbit, though naturally he ate with powerful jaws the beast he had slain.  Nature did not know wastefulness.

When Slough arose on trembling limbs, after the passage of the night, Esau joined her, and the two began to walk.

[center]-=-=-[/center]

In the crater that marked the arrival of life to the world, there lay a little wood, though its roots went deep into the earth.  From the sky to below the surface it stretched, and between its branches lived creatures great and small.  Far beneath the leaves of emerald and bark of chocolate lay the forest floor, where stillness was best embodied.  Many beasts lived at the bottom of the overgrown basin, but pure happenstance rendered a few patches of it wholly undisturbed by anything larger than a cicada.  On the other end of the spectrum, there lay a patch of ground where animals purposely deigned not to tread, for in the grass were traced the footsteps of gods.  And in this patch of ground lay a patch of briars, wherein grew a cluster of flowers.  These were called roses, and among plants they were the most beautiful, even though their sharp thorns 

Yet these roses contained something more than beauty.  Like the desert sand sucked up water, the most beauteous creations of the distant Rottenbone greedily drank the essence of every divinity to set foot or emissary in the Deepwood, where the power of life resonated so powerfully that any motion left a mark like a footprint on the beach.  Seraphic starlight, eminent magician, luminous oppressor, marauding composer, rough-handed visionary, sepulchral specter, amenable abomination, wayward whirlwind, and reticent warlord all had effigies in this flowerbed.  It had been the muse Illunabar who had upset the balance--she took the white rose, and with its annihilation brought life to an aspect of herself.  Soon after she left, but in her wake she left something altered forever.  As time went by, the roses withered and died, one after another, until only a single one remained.

Alone among its slain brothers stood the most beautiful rose of all, and it was red.  Like blood.

Though no eyes bared witness to the rose in the briars in the god-walked patch of land at the very bottom of the marvelous Deepwood, there appeared a being who stooped over the rose, plucked it from the bed, and sniffed it in evident satisfaction.  This was not just any being, but a man.  There existed no precedent for man, seemingly hinting at his rise from nothing, but such a conclusion couldn't be more false.  He came from the gods: from their power, their ideas, their loves, their wants, and their pride--their pride most of all.  He came from the flower, which like a chronicler of history recorded and synthesized everything to which it bore witness.  Deeper still, he came from a place far beyond the universe, where other things had lived long ago.

Unlike the angels of Niciel, or the urtelem of Teknell, or the hain of Toun, he did not come into the world oblivious.  He knew his name and nature, and well enough understood those of the planet, and of those who presumed themselves almighty.  Well, he would see.  A sparkle caught the man's eye, and he strode gracefully toward a pool of water, and in it he saw something of immaculate and inimitable beauty.  [color=E62020]"Perfection itself," [/color]  he remarked laughingly, admiring his reflection.  No doubts could be held by even the most pigheaded skeptic about his spectacular handsomeness.  His body was powerfully built but lithe and graceful, strong and muscular without being bulky, rough, or crude.  The lines of his face displayed exact symmetry and proportion, and the smile on his full lips could melt the coldest of hearts.  Hair the color of honey hung past his shoulders, and with instinctive precision he tied it in a braid.  He wore a garment made of plant fibers around his waist and legs, leaving his chest bare.  Any being, whether animal, mortal, or deity, could neither ignore or deny his handsomeness, whether or not they felt any attraction for him, just as the viewer might admire the skill put into a piece of art while not liking the art itself.

A rustling of brush came to him, and he turned around.  A trio of stripe-faced aphids stared at him, no doubt intoxicated by his beauty.  His smile turned into a pained grimace.  [color=E62020]"What ugly creatures...putrefying in their shameful ignorance, and repugnance." [/color]  He took his time speaking in order to articulate his inner feelings in every pregnant, lovingly accented word.  [color=E62020]"Yet I can make you splendid again.  Hold still...!" [/color]

Very quickly, he swiped his outstretched pinky finger through the air, drawing a line across all three aphids.  With a shriek each creature split apart, severed cleanly in half by a thin, unseen blade.  Smiling a wide, perfectly white smile, the man made several more strokes with his finger, the quintessential artist, until the offending insects were but mere chunks scattered through the clearing.  His eyes drank in the coating of sticky orange blood that now blanketed the grass, including the dead flowerpatch.  [color=E62020]"Ah!  Is it not remarkable, the beauty of fresh blood, even when drawn from a vile container?  I dare say there is no music more precious than the hair-raising cry of they made more beautiful by death.  I must find the hideousness in the world, and its sources, and set them right.  Truly, there could be no greater aim,"[/color] he told the trees, as he bunched his legs up to leap, far faster and longer than any man should have been able, between them.  He soared between the trees, bounding this way and that, until he stood on solid ground.  Before him stretched a savannah, where gross things lumbered and groaned--an affront to the true calling of existence.  Spotting a caterpillar meandering through the grass, he delicately raised a moccasin-clad heel and ground the horrible pest into the dirt.  [color=E62020]"Gods die, mountains fall, worlds shrivel, memories are forgotten, light dims and power fades,"[/color] he instructed the juices that ran out from beneath his heel.  [color=E62020]"But true beauty is eternal." [/color]

He, too, began to walk.

[hider=Rottenbone Slough, Awake and Alive]
-Slough revives in the Firewind Resort, and has risen in power
-Back in the Deepwood, the signatures of the gods who visited it in form or in proxy is condensed into a single patch of multicolored roses, all of which die but for the most beautiful one of all, the red rose.
-A man appears, manifesting from the collective essences and traits of the gods, and after a moment getting used to his body is appalled by the appearance of three stripe-faced aphids.  He fixes them and sets off on his way to make the world more beautiful.

5 MP used to level up
1 MP used to unconsciously recall a proud soul, which acts as an especially-powerful hero
1 MP remains
[/hider]